


Cake For Mycroft

by mickie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft Likes Tea and Cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:27:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/pseuds/mickie
Summary: After work, Mycroft sneaks off to a coffee shop for some tea.  Someone notices.This story is now complete.





	1. Gâteau aux Poires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts).



> Written for fabricdragon who has had a rough few days.  
> I may write a second chapter but right now this is a stand alone story.

**Gâteau aux Poires**

Mycroft sighed as he entered Rossini's Crescendo in Soho and walked to the counter. After placing his regular order of tea: cream and two sugars, with the barista, Camilla, college student, studying business and art, taking care of her disabled mother, dating an American of whom her family did not approve, he made his way to the secluded booth that was his favorite. It afforded him a view of the door and most of the shop.

Mycroft had discovered the coffee shop about two months prior and found it rather enjoyable. It catered to students and locals more so than tourists but Mycroft did see the occasional foreigner there. Lively classical music was always playing but at a fairly quiet volume so that people could easily converse or, in Mycroft's case, work, or very rarely, unwind.

His security team would be appalled if they discovered that Mycroft _walked_ there unguarded, was _familiar_ to the staff, and had established something akin to a _routine_. For some reason Mycroft felt safe at Rossini's Crescendo. The anonymity he felt walking there alone and then the comforting familiarity of the shop were a breath of fresh air compared to stuffiness of his suffocating office. 

Once Moriarty had killed himself and Sherlock was off hunting down the criminal network, Mycroft had relaxed, in ways that he occasionally told himself that he shouldn't. But he didn't care. It felt like he could breathe again. The welcoming coffee shop was becoming almost like a second home and office. 

Both the tea and coffee were superb and occasionally Mycroft would indulge in one of their biscuits to dip in either. He refused to even consider any of their other indulgences no matter how delectable they appeared, like yesterday's violet-water cream puffs with sugared violet petals on top. One of the things he appreciated about the shop was that besides their regular reasonably priced options, they also offered delicacies at a price that was not out of reach for the students.

After setting up his laptop and opening a secure VPN connection, he started reviewing an important case involving bombings of Jewish-related targets in Europe, particularly Germany, and in areas where there were many immigrants. The case did not seem as open and shut to Mycroft as it did to his German counterparts. He suspected something more subtle.

After a few minutes, Camilla approached with his tea and, once more asked him if he'd like a "small sweet treat" as she phrased it. Mycroft smiled and explained that much as he would like to indulge that evening, he'd been trapped in his office all day and all the calories would go directly to his waistline. She promised to check on him in a bit before returning to the counter.

Smiling to himself, Mycroft decided that once the case that was currently occupying his mind was resolved and Sherlock finished his latest assignment in Serbia, he would investigate Camilla's boyfriend and make sure that he was a decent sort. After a cursory glance of his various emails, he soon lost himself in his work and stayed past not just his first but his second cup of tea.

It was close to midnight when Camilla approached once more. She was carrying a plate. Denial quickly sprang to his lips. "I don't need anything, my dear," he said. 

She set the plate down and on it was a rather exquisite piece of cake."It's a gift from the owner," she said. "Chocolate gâteau layered with fresh cream caramel mousse and sweet William pears and decorated with white chocolate and dark chocolate shavings." 

Mycroft's eyes widened. He immediately knew there was a reason that he never looked very closely at the cakes. They were such a temptation. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Would you like another tea?" Camilla asked.

"Well, I suppose I can't have cake without tea." 

Mycroft reached for his wallet but Camilla shook her head. "No, no, tea is included with the cake." She went to make his tea. Mycroft supposed that he'd need it since he planned on going home and finishing the case. He was unable to wait for Camilla to return with his tea before he tried the cake and almost melted. It was heavenly. Mycroft saved his work, shut his computer and savored the gateaux. He barely noticed when the tea arrived. The combination of flavors was sheer bliss.

After finishing, he called for his driver, packed the computer, put on his coat, and then left Camilla a generous tip while asking her to extend his thanks to the owner. She assured him that she would but then handed him a card in an envelope. She explained that the owner had left that for him to read when he got home. He thanked her and left when the driver arrived.

*~*~*

Once home, Mycroft poured himself some mineral water, sat in his favorite chair, and opened the note. He supposed he should investigate the owner sooner rather than later. The man had obviously taken notice of him and that was of concern. The contents of the note were even more concerning. It was one line and GPS coordinates.

_Sherlock has been captured in Serbia. -JM_


	2. Strawberry Millefoglie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rescuing Sherlock from Serbia, Mycroft returns to the coffee shop to confront James Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was supposed to be strictly fluff but this chapter got a bit serious despite the presence of another delectable dessert. There will be another chapter, maybe two, and the fluff should return as well as more desserts. Mycroft better find a way to exercise...
> 
> TW: very, very mild clinical listing of the tortures Sherlock endured

**Strawberry Millefoglie**

It was late, past nine in the evening, when Mycroft walked into Rossini's Crescendo. He was weary and the familiar coffee shop both warmed his heart and left a chill in his soul. Sherlock was safe and back in London thanks to a timely message from JM. Mycroft was certain it was none other than James Moriarty, who had supposedly died two years prior and hadn't been seen or heard from since.

After ordering his usual tea and an almond biscuit from Nigel, retired university professor who still liked to be around students, widowed, loves opera, and collects music boxes, Mycroft took a deep breath and asked, "Is the owner available? I realize it's late but perhaps he's still here or you can tell me when I may find him tomorrow?" He almost hoped that the answer was no. He really was in no mood to deal with Moriarty. But it had to be done.

Nigel smiled. "He's left for the day." Mycroft fought down the relief at hearing those words. "But he said you might be coming in looking for him in the next few days so, after I get your order, I'll let him know that you're here." 

"Thank you." Mycroft wasn't reassured by the fact that Moriarty had expected him. That meant that the man had been able to follow his movements across Europe or, at the very minimum, knew of his and Sherlock's return to England. He was, in fact, very concerned and wondered if he shouldn't have taken a security detail, or, at least, his driver, Karl. He supposed that Moriarty could have easily harmed him at any point, if he had so desired, considering how frequently he'd been visiting the coffee shop.

After settling down in his usual spot, Mycroft opened the new laptop that he'd brought and logged into the shop's Wi-Fi network. There was absolutely nothing official on this computer. At least he hadn't lost all his wits and brought a real work computer that could provide an expert hacker, like Moriarty, access to the deepest levels of British Intelligence. He decided to review the upcoming meetings of the Royal Entomological Society to see if there were any in the upcoming year that he wished to attend. Most people didn't appreciate insects as much as Mycroft did and perhaps that would bore Moriarty to death. Although the man was a spider and probably liked insects.

Nigel soon brought his tea and biscuit and Mycroft began to relax a little. He really did enjoy his time at the coffee shop. The atmosphere, the music, the quality of the food and drink, and the genuine congeniality of the employees soothed his soul. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about the Moriarty issue.

It turned out that the RES website was boring _him_ that evening. He switched to an article about the earth's magnetic poles reversing and the potential effects on satellite technology and networks. That distracted him until he saw a familiar figure come in from a back door of the shop and stride across the room towards him. James Moriarty.

Closing the laptop, Mycroft rose to his feet as what felt like a million facts flashed through his mind. All of them fell neatly into place. Except for coffee shop owner. And the man who had _saved_ Sherlock's life. "Mr. Moriarty," he murmured as he noted the bespoke Prada suit, Ray-bans, diamond cufflinks shaped like skulls, and Louis Vuitton Constellation Abstract tie. The latter was an interesting choice; it wasn't deadly. The man looked good, better than Mycroft remembered. He'd lost a few pounds, probably gave them to Mycroft, and he was starting to show just a few hints of silver in his hair. Moriarty looked distinguished and poised.

"Jim," Moriarty said and smiled smugly. That hadn't changed. "We've been through too much together for formality, darling."

Mycroft felt the familiar temper rise. The man brought out the worst in him and Mycroft certainly wasn't anyone's darling. "James," he conceded.

"Please sit down, Mr. Holmes." The way Moriarty said his name felt like a seduction, sweet as caramel and soft like velvet. Sitting down, Mycroft felt at a disadvantage and he did not like that one bit. He fidgeted slightly in his seat and then took a sip of his tea even though he knew it was rude to do so before the other man had even ordered or indicated that it was fine to proceed.

Jim smiled. "How is Sherlock?" That was the easy place to start and Mycroft didn't fault Moriarty for beginning there. Before he could answer, Nigel walked over to their booth with a tray. Mycroft wanted to growl at the man for interrupting even though he knew it wasn't his fault. James had probably ordered when he'd been notified of Mycroft's arrival. 

Nigel had a steaming cup of tea for Jim and two pieces of cake. Mycroft saw sliced strawberries and lots of cream and his eyes widened. Jim laughed. "It's a strawberry millefoglie cake with clotted cream, brandy soaked strawberries, whipped cream, and white chocolate ganache and shavings," he explained while looking at the cake. "I had them save us some in case you came in tonight."

"I'm afraid that my waistline will suffer the consequences," Mycroft said sadly.

"You just need to find a way to exercise afterward," Jim said softly while slowly lowering his glasses and all Mycroft could think of was being undressed. He forced himself not to shudder. James took off the glasses and set them down.

"Where do you find these delicacies?" Mycroft asked, both because he was curious and it would give him some time to recoup control.

"Well, I had some operations in Cannes," James explained. Mycroft nodded. Sherlock had been there while he eliminated the parts of Moriarty's web located in France. "I wasn't that attached to most of those businesses but there was one establishment, L'Oiseau Noire, a restaurant of which I was rather fond." He sighed and tipped his head to one side. "But there was no way to save it while getting rid of the chaff."

Mycroft pursed his lips. That statement confirmed some of the fears he'd long held and brought up numerous questions. Moriarty had been aware of Sherlock's moves and had simply relocated the pieces of his web that he'd wanted to keep while purposefully leaving the remaining strands for Sherlock. Mycroft took a deep breath. He could investigate this matter later. "So, you brought the staff here?" 

James nodded but then clarified as though he sensed Mycroft's unease. "No one that was involved in anything but the culinary aspect of things was brought here. Does that make you feel better?"

"Only marginally so," Mycroft admitted. There was no way that he could trust Moriarty on this and now he knew that he would have to investigate everything again, in much, much greater detail, to see what they had missed.

"Try the cake," Jim suggested and indicated Mycroft's plate with his fork. "It's heavenly." 

Looking down, Mycroft found that he really couldn't resist _that_. He then wondered how he'd managed to hold off for the past minute. As the fork approached his mouth, he reminded himself repeatedly that clearly James Moriarty could have hurt him at any time in the past two years if he'd so desired and that the cake probably wasn't poisoned or drugged. The first bite was an explosion of flavor across his senses: strawberry, honey, aged brandy, vanilla, and the white chocolate with its notes of raspberry. Mycroft decided then and there that this was his new definition of perfection and he forced himself to savor the bite as slowly as possible. Jim started eating as well.

"I see why you didn't want to lose these chefs," Mycroft eventually noted. "Have you owned this place for long?"

"I've had Rossini's Crescendo for over ten years," James said. "And I'm not worried about you knowing all this, by the way. In the beginning, I did use it for some money laundering but it's been clean for at least the past five years. Nothing criminal happens here besides my being here and the crossword puzzles I do on my computer or phone."

Mycroft snickered. He had always admired the man's humor. "Crossword puzzles. Fair enough."

"And, since I know you've done some work and research here," Jim added. "This is clearly a _government building_ since you feel safe to come here and work." Mycroft had to smile at that. Jim looked back at him smugly. "But back to Sherlock. How is he? I know you got out without too much trouble."

"Should I be concerned with your rekindled interest in my brother?" Mycroft asked, perhaps a bit too sharply. There was always something to worry about where Sherlock was concerned and adding Moriarty to the mix was a recipe for disaster. Mycroft quickly ate another piece of cake.

James shook his head and drank a sip of his tea before answering. "No, not at all. I find him adorable but I no longer have any designs on him." He looked at Mycroft pointedly. "Having a crush on Sherlock became tedious." He looked away again. "I never wished him any harm." Mycroft glared at him. "No, that was just flirting, darling, followed by me bailing."

"Your exit strategy was rather dramatic."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment," Mycroft said but he felt his lips edging into a smile. Sherlock had told him about a similar conversation with Moriarty.

"Yes, it was." Jim also smiled and Mycroft knew that he also remembered the conversation at the pool that they were mimicking.

"Sherlock is doing better," Mycroft said. He supposed that it would have been awfully rude to make Jim repeat the question a _third_ time. "Well, he's alive but he's in bad shape. Pneumonia, several cuts and abrasions are infected, a lot of blunt force trauma, broken ribs." Mycroft's voice become softer as he spoke and images of Sherlock came to his mind. He then looked directly at Jim and held the man's eyes in his gaze. "Thank you. Without your notification, we would have been too late. He wouldn't have survived another half day there."

Jim nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad you got him out in time." Mycroft sensed no guile coming from the man and that reassured him. He didn't need to agonize over a new and potentially more dangerous threat to his brother. James took another sip of tea and they ate in silence for a few minutes. "Where does this leave us?" he asked.

Mycroft had tried to think of numerous solutions to that conundrum on his way back from Serbia and prior to visiting the shop. He shot James a very proper look. "Well, we're here having tea and cake."

"That we are," Jim agreed. "And if that's your real answer, I can live with it."

"You don't seem to have caused much, if any, trouble since your supposed death," Mycroft noted and then took another bite of the cake and sighed. "I'll grant your chefs diplomatic immunity if they want it."

"I'll let them know," Jim said, laughing, but then his tone became serious again. "You don't scare me, Mycroft, which is why I never left London." Mycroft's eyes widened at that revelation. He didn't want to believe him but it was plainly obvious that, once more, James was not lying. "But you are a relentless adversary when provoked."

Mycroft nodded and kept his expression neutral while silently being pleased at the compliment. "So, you've purposefully stayed out of my way," he surmised. 

"And I plan to continue to do so," Jim stated firmly and then took another bite of cake. Mycroft wasn't sure what about that admission left him feeling hollow instead of assured. James continued, "I don't have any illegitimate business in England anymore." 

Mycroft immediately deduced that was the truth as well. "Why give your hand away, then?" he blurted out and then regretted it.

"As I just said, I adore Sherlock and didn't want to see him hurt." Jim paused to take a sip of tea. "I had to get the information to you quickly. The situation was already dire when I got word and deteriorating rapidly." Mycroft nodded. He knew all too well how close Sherlock had come to death. "The short of it is that you would have investigated the information all the way to the source no matter where it came from."

"Play an open hand and minimize the damage then."

"Pretty much." 

Mycroft understood the truth in that. There was so much more that he wanted to say and he wanted to express his gratitude more than the simple thank you that he'd uttered. He couldn't seem to find the right words. Everytime a thought formed, its substance would evaporate. 

Instead they finished their tea and cake in silence and somehow, when he finished, Mycroft felt sated, content, and assured. "All things considered, is there something I can offer you to… express my gratitude for your help?" he finally asked.

Jim smiled and, for once, it reached his eyes, which Mycroft found rather odd. Moriarty was always so guarded, misleading, ambiguating, and never easy to read. Mycroft got the distinct feeling that the man was enjoying this. James nodded, finished his tea, then looked up at Mycroft with wide and innocent eyes. "Carmen is playing at the Royal Opera House..."

*~*~*


	3. Chocolate Raspberry Torte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the opera, Jim invites Mycroft up for a nightcap.

**Chocolate Raspberry Torte**

The black sedan with dark tinted windows pulled up to the curb in front of Rossini's Crescendo and stopped. Mycroft's driver, Karl, stepped out to get the door for him while the other guard did the same on the other side for his guest, James Moriarty. Mycroft had no idea how he wanted the evening to end. Part of him hoped that James would simply wish him a good night and walk away while another part of him suggested that, perhaps tea and dessert would be a lovely way to end what had been an undeniably pleasant evening.

Mycroft had tried to fulfill his obligation by simply dropping off two tickets for Carmen at the coffee shop. Later that evening he'd received a text.

Does this mean you want me to pick *you* up?! -JM

Mycroft had decided not to think about how Moriarty had obtained his high priority and family only number and instead wondered how he should reply to avoid further entanglements with a consulting criminal, who while now seemingly an upstanding citizen and legitimate business owner in England, was still the Napoleon of Crime. He'd texted back a rather unenthusiastic reply.

I didn't want to presume. -MH

James's reply left him no wiggle room.

I'll pick you up after work then. -JM

Mycroft had stared at that text for entirely longer than he'd care to admit. He'd then poured himself a scotch and stared at it some more before deciding that trying to elucidate Moriarty's motives was a completely fruitless endeavor.

My security team might not approve of that plan so I'll pick *you* up after work. -MH

Jim's reply had been almost instantaneous.

Wouldn't want them to have kittens. I'll be wearing something sexy. -JM

Mycroft hadn't known how to _safely_ respond to that comment so he'd let it stand and then proceeded to not think about the entire situation until it had been the end of that particular workday. After picking up James, they'd enjoyed a quick meal of curry and then proceeded to the show. Throughout both dinner and the performance, Mycroft had been pleasantly surprised by James's company. They'd discussed politics, philosophy, botany, psychology, even entomology, and they'd also solved one of Mycroft's more difficult cases all the while managing not to annoy anyone around them. 

Mycroft had found himself enthralled and wondered how he had missed so much about Moriarty previously. Or how blind he'd been because of worry and concern for Sherlock. He sighed and looked at James pensively. "That was a lovely evening," he said. 

Jim smirked and Mycroft found himself wondering what the man was thinking. He'd never been able to read him. Ever. It was a great source of frustration for him along with just about everything else having to do with Moriarty. "Care for a nightcap?" James asked sweetly.

Mycroft decided that he wasn't going to analyze that question. Some things were simply better left unexamined. "I do believe I would," he said.

Jim looked intensely pleased. "Follow me."

"Walk into my parlor?"

James laughed. "Said the spider to the fly." 

"And you _are_ the spider."

"You're no fly," Jim murmured huskily.

Mycroft decided it was in his best interests not to respond to _that_ and instead spoke a few words to Karl about their plans and then he and James sauntered into the coffee shop. As they approached the counter. Camilla smiled at them almost mischievously. Mycroft silently reminded himself to investigate her American boyfriend before the chap swept her off her feet and out of the country. Mycroft noted that the desserts had been put away since it was after midnight.

"What do we have left today besides biscuits, muffins, and cookies?" Jim asked. "Mycroft needs something a teensy bit more substantial to fortify himself after an evening with me."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Speak for yourself, James. I'm in top form. Perhaps _you_ need the fortification."

Jim turned and eyed Mycroft speculatively. "Ooooooo, darling, I'll hold you to that," he murmured.

"I'll go check the refrigerator!" Camilla squeaked and bolted for the back room. 

Mycroft pursed his lips. "What sort of an employer are you? Frightening the poor child, like that, with your innuendos?"

"She knows how thoroughly wicked I am, through and through," Jim countered and then licked his lips.

Mycroft had the distinct feeling that he'd left his common sense on the balcony in the opera house and that instead of being intrigued, he should be running for the door. He was more than intrigued. He cleared his throat. "I assume we're talking about questionable behavior and reprehensible moral character and _not_ illegal doings."

Jim shot him a licentious smile. "Questionable behavior and reprehensible moral character sound… _delicious_." Mycroft felt his cheeks warm slightly. "Like cake. Driiiipping with icing."

At that moment Camilla reappeared. Fortunately it seemed as though she had only heard the word icing. "Icing, yes, it's delicious. Delicious!" she exclaimed nervously. "Yes, we have only one piece of a few of the desserts left but there are two pieces of the Seville orange cake and three of the dark chocolate raspberry torte."

"Mycroft?" Jim asked.

"The dark chocolate would be lovely," Mycroft said and then smiled at Camilla. "And you must not let this man intimidate you, my dear. Let me know if he causes you any trouble and I'll take care of him."

"Promises, promises!" Jim said smugly but then turned just in time to see Camilla turn a little pink with embarrassment. "We'll take two of the chocolate raspberry. You can take the last piece home and share it with your Mam." Camilla stared at him with wide eyes and then ran to the back without saying anything.

"Stop terrifying the girl," Mycroft grumbled. "You'll scare her off to America."

James laughed. "I'm still working on that situation."

"Good, I'll help you with it." Mycroft watched as Camilla returned from the backroom and handed James a box. They both thanked her, wished her a good night, and then Mycroft followed Jim through the shop and out the back door into a charming lobby that had a small antique table underneath rows of mailboxes, a brass chandelier with glass accents, and a wrought iron staircase.

They made their way up to the third floor. James entered entirely too many codes into a very modern and high quality security system before climbing one last set of stairs to the fourth floor. There were only two apartments and Jim deactivated yet another security system for the west side apartment.

Mycroft was stunned when he entered. Dark wood paneling. An interwoven octagonal motif carved into the ceiling that matched the hardwood floor. Arabesque antique brass lighting fixtures. Eggshell white walls with minimal decorations. The apartment combined minimalism and opulence in a way that impressed Mycroft. "Do you like it?" Jim asked as he set the box down on a small glass table and took Mycroft's coat.

"Impressive," Mycroft answered and then had to ask, "Have you lived here all this time? Since your supposed death?"

Jim nodded, picked up the desserts, and then led the way to the kitchen. "I have other residences but this is my favorite so I pretty much do live here. Don't force me to move."

Mycroft smirked. "Don't give me a reason to do so." The kitchen was very modern and equally impressive. It was obvious that Jim knew how to cook as well as Mycroft did. He felt the urge to cook in it.

"Have I so far?"

"No, but, this is _you_ of whom we are speaking…" Mycroft left that sentence hanging to get his point across. 

Jim's mouth opened to a mock shocked O before falling back into a pleased look. He pulled out two plates and opened the box. "We've had this discussion before, darling. I'm behaving. Do you want beer, wine, or something a bit stronger? I picked up a couple of nice liqueurs in Athens last month." He set a piece of cake on each plate.

"Ouzo?"

Jim shook his head while placing two forks on the plates. "Mastic and Rakomelo."

Mycroft smiled. "I'm impressed. I've heard of both but haven't tried either."

"Ooooooo… a Mastic and Rakomelo _virgin_. I'll have to do something about that," Jim teased and handed Mycroft both plates. "Take those out to the living room and I'll get the drinks."

Mycroft's eyes widened when he saw the pieces of cake. Decadent dark chocolate layers with a deep scarlet creme in between and lots of syrupy raspberries. He smelled a sweet raspberry liqueur. "Chambord?" he asked as he walked out of the room.

"Yes."

"A weakness, I must admit."

"One of many, perhaps?"

Mycroft snorted and set the plates down on the glass coffee table in front of the couch. Leather. Darlings of Chelsea. "I'm not going to dignify that comment with an answer."

"I'll take that as an admission of guilt," Jim replied and then, with a few trips from the kitchen, brought two shot glasses, two taller glasses filled with ice and a lemon wedge and then four bottles: Mastic, Rakomelo, Chambord, and a one of San Pellegrino sparkling water. 

Mycroft had to smile at the thoughtfulness while pouring the water. He then surveyed the collection of bottles that Jim had brought out. "I don't think this is a very good idea, James."

"It's a horrible idea, darling," Jim agreed. "But since when do we let things like that stop us?"

Mycroft chuckled. "True. Where shall we start?" All the alarm bells in his mind were sounding loudly but he chose to ignore them.

"You're so naughty," Jim said very properly although his eyes glinted with mischief. He poured the Mastic and handed one to Mycroft. They clinked their glasses and then both drank the shot. Mycroft tasted hints of sugar-sweet anise sliding down his throat with just a little warmth from the alcohol. Liquid sin. "Try the cake," Jim suggested. His voice sounded just as warm and smooth as the Mastic.

Mycroft decided to disable the alarm systems in his mind and took a bite of the cake. Heaven. Both the chocolate and the raspberry were deep, dark, and intense. The Chambord intensified and amalgamated the flavors. "This is amazing…" he murmured.

"Isn't it?" James took another bite and, as Mycroft watched him bring the fork to his mouth and sensually wrap his lips around the chocolate and raspberries, warmth suffused his body. "Chambord or Rakomelo next?" Jim asked.

Mycroft's mind immediately responded _neither_ followed by an urgent request to find the nearest exit and make use of it. He silenced those thoughts and eyed both bottles pensively. "Either," he said in a measured tone which belied the excitement that he was feeling. "Which would you recommend?"

"Purple. Everything is sexier in purple." Jim poured the Chambord into their shot glasses but then set them on the table. "Take a bite of cake with bits of everything and then drink the shot. It'll make a big mess in your mouth but the taste… sheer bliss."

"Messes can be interesting."

"Or, at least entertaining," Jim added. Mycroft nodded. "If you snarf, as our American friends like to say, Iceman, I will never let you live it down."

"If _you_ snarf, then I will see to it that you'll make the front page of the Daily Express as well as every other newspaper not just in London but in the entire kingdom."

"I'd love the publicity." Jim took a bite of his cake and Mycroft followed suit. He wasn't completely convinced about the idea but it did sound intriguing. They both then drank their shots simultaneously. If the previous bite of the cake had been incredible, it paled against the flavors that burst across Mycroft's palate now. Both the chocolate and the raspberry were enhanced almost to the point of being deliciously unbearable and the alcohol seemed to momentarily rush to his head. Mycroft forced himself to chew slowly and savor the experience.

Eventually he turned to look at James. "That was rather amazing," he said.

"Wasn't it?" Jim said. "I do look forward to this one but I've told them not to make it tooooooo frequently because I have trouble not overindulging."

"I can see why," Mycroft said and then relaxed into the sofa. "Rakomelo next, I presume?"

Jim nodded and filled their shot glasses with the amber liquid. Instead of handing it to Mycroft, he stood, straddled Mycroft's legs, and then sank down into his lap. Mycroft shuddered. James certainly was a beautiful creature with seemingly few, if any, reservations. He stared into the man's dark eyes and imagined them to be the entry point to the unknown abyss. Or bliss. He also saw his own reflection in them.

Handing him the glass, Jim tipped his head and gave him a lopsided smile. He placed his index finger against Mycroft's lips and Mycroft was hard pressed not to open his mouth and caress it with his tongue. "We're probably both about to lose what little sense we had when we walked in here, darling," Jim murmured. "And I'll probably drag you into the bedroom and go down on you after a few more because... I'm like that." Mycroft nodded and forced himself to concentrate on the words. Not the sensual mouth that was uttering them or the promises of decadent pleasure.

"If you don't want to continue, we shouldn't have this," Jim continued. "Give it back to me and I'll call Karl. We can have Rakomelo another time." Mycroft pondered Jim's words and knew they were absolutely correct. This really was a terrible idea. He continued to stare into Jim's eyes as all the options fell into place. Mycroft raised the shot glass, tapped Jim's glass, and then downed it.

*~*~*


	4. Caribbean Rum Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft spends the night in Jim's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: some explicit naughtiness***

**Caribbean Rum Cake**

“This way,” Jim murmured as he took Mycroft’s hand and led him toward the bedroom. Mycroft knew he should be doing so many things other than this but the spider was so very charming. And he was enthralled.

Jim opened the door and ushered him in. Mycroft was again impressed at the combination of minimalism, elegance, and opulence. James reached for Mycroft’s jacket and deftly undid both buttons. “Wait,” Mycroft murmured and stopped Jim’s hand. “Allow me.”

“As you wish, darling.” James took two steps back and let his arms fall to his sides indicating Mycroft could proceed. 

Mycroft took a deep breath. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to own every part of James Moriarty. He wanted to unwrap the criminal mastermind and discover all the secrets that lay underneath. Making quick work of the jacket, Westwood this time, he then allowed his hands to explore the silk button-down shirt and follow the line of the tie with little skulls. His fingertips pressed against the muscles underneath the shirt and then dexterously unbuttoned each tiny pearl hindrance.

The tie, the shirt, the leather belt, the elegantly tailored trousers, and even the shoes and socks were soon folded over a chair or underneath it and the pale slender form of James Moriarty, looking almost like a magical fey creature, stood in front of him. All his for the taking. He pulled Jim against him and they kissed. Heat spread throughout Mycroft’s body. The power differential aroused him. A very naked and willing James Moriarty was pressed against his fully clothed body although he sensed that Moriarty embraced the differential and somehow nullified it.

Breaking away from the kiss, Jim smirked and undid the buckle of Mycroft’s belt. Mycroft was already starting to feel aroused. “I did promise I would do this,” Jim whispered 

“You did, you very wicked thing, and I’ll hold you to that,” Mycroft said and slowly pushed James down to his knees. 

“LIke this?” Jim carefully unbuttoned and unzipped Mycroft’s trousers then slipped his fingers inside the man's underwear. Mycroft groaned with anticipation while Jim brought out his cock. Looking up at the man, he made a show of licking his lips and then opened his mouth just wide enough so that he was able to slide down Mycroft's cock and take it in all at once. Mycroft inhaled sharply. Angling his head, Jim relaxed his throat and started gliding his mouth up and down the entire length.

Mycroft wanted to moan but forced himself to stay under tight control. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the pleasurable sensations radiating throughout his body. James certainly did have a sinfully wicked mouth, he mused as he absent-mindedly reached down and ran his fingers through the man's dark hair. James picked up the pace and this time Mycroft couldn’t stop from shuddering.

Jim's tongue pressed against his cock as his lips glided up and down in a sensuous rhythm. His eyes lifted to stare up smugly at Mycroft through lowered lashes. Mycroft made a mental note to punish James for that look. Somehow. Jim’s tongue started dancing around his rigid length and then he started humming and moving faster.

The vibrations and the pressure were almost too much to bear. Mycroft shivered with pleasure and looked down with lust filled eyes. James was beautiful kneeling at his feet, eyes darkened with desire and lips stretched to accommodate the girth of his cock. And... there was not an ounce of submission coming from the man. 

Heat pooled in Mycroft’s loins. He ran his fingers through Jim's hair again and then thrust in slowly, just once. Receiving no protest, he continued. With each movement, he pulled out a little further and then pushed in a little more. Not only did James not fight him, but he seemed to encourage and even… relish it. Mycroft shuddered. He wanted to _own_ James Moriarty in every sense of the word.

Tightening his grip on Jim's hair, he increased the force of his thrusts. James grabbed his hips and dug in his fingers. Mycroft felt like he was burning from the inside out. Bracing the sides of Jim’s head, he closed his eyes and then spilled deep in Jim's throat. Sheer bliss. James sucked and licked him gently until he found some coherence.

“I think you missed your calling, James,” Mycroft teased.

Jim rose and Mycroft sensed from the man’s countenance that he’d just become more insufferable. “How would you know what my calling is?” Jim purred and then pulled Mycroft toward the bed. 

Once they reached the side, he tried to slip Mycroft’s jacket off but was stopped once more. “Allow me,” Mycroft repeated. “And lie down.”

Jim nodded, pulled the sheets aside and lay down. “Ooooo… Are we going to play with some dominance and submission?”

“Not that, exactly,” Mycroft said.

“Tell me what you want Mycroft,” Jim said. “We’ve had raspberry chocolate torte, chambord, mastic, and rakomelo. I’m feeling somewhat accommodating this evening.”

“I do like it when you’re accommodating, James, however my understanding is that you only do so when you stand to gain something from it,” Mycroft noted.

“Who says I don’t?”

“I have no doubt.” Mycroft started undressing. “For tonight, I would like it if you did nothing but react.”

“Completely passive but responsive?”

“Yes.”

“I can do that,” Jim said but Mycroft guessed that James Moriarty would never be truly out of control. He felt the man’s dark hungry eyes devouring him as each layer of clothes was removed. When he finished, he sat down on the bed, reclined, and ran one hand along Jim’s body. James smiled and looked entirely too pleased with himself. Mycroft decided that he wasn’t going to worry about that at the moment. He had free reign to do whatever he wished and he wasn’t going to lose that opportunity.

Mycroft lay down next to Jim and caressed every inch of the other man’s body that he could. He found which points caused Jim to moan, shudder, arch towards him, or melt in pleasure. He noted what changing the pressure did or using fingertips versus his palm versus the back of the hand. And then he introduced his tongue. Hip bone, wrist, nipples, abdomen, torso, knees, fingers, toes, arms, legs, neck… James seemed to be some level of sensitive everywhere and every one of his touches elicited a response that Mycroft savored.

Eventually certain scars caught his attention. The first was a long one near Jim’s hip. “I almost lost a knife fight,” James explained. Mycroft arched an eyebrow but kept his finger on the scar. “When I was twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“I managed to stay relatively unscathed before then except for the buckle marks on my back.”

“I can’t really see those,” Mycroft said while continuing to run his hands along Jim’s body. 

Jim sat up and turned slightly so Mycroft could see. “Stepfather, belt buckle.” 

Mycroft gasped. They were faint but obvious if a person knew to look. “He’s dead,” Jim stated coolly and Mycroft had no doubt about the origin of the man’s termination. He moved his hand to a craggy mark on Jim’s ankle. “This one?”

James laughed and smiled sweetly. “My first art heist. I landed badly on some broken concrete. My whole shin was a giant purple and red bruise. I still have the painting and, _no_ , I’m not telling you about it.” Shaking his head, Mycroft resumed his exploration.

There was one more and Mycroft truly didn’t want to ask but he did. “This one?”

James looked at him with an odd combination of smugness and sadness. “You know what that’s from, Mycroft.”

“Interrogation,” he said evenly.

“The electrodes specifically.”

Mycroft’s hands stilled and he sat up looking at James intently. “I’m not sorry,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be.” James also sat up before kissing him and then nipping his lower lip. “That was strictly business.” Mycroft’s eyes widened. “Your boys were professional.” He lay down and his expression morphed to a completely self-satisfied smirk. “And _you_ lost.” 

Mycroft snorted but then let James pull him back down. “Did I?” he countered even though he really did know the answer.

“Oh, yes,” Jim murmured huskily. “More so than you’ll ever know. I might tell you at some point but right now I am rather enjoying _this_ sweet torture. Do go on,” he commanded playfully.

Mycroft didn’t know what to think about that statement but the thought of continuing to discover the secrets held within James Moriarty intrigued him. 

After a while, even though he was writhing passionately beneath Mycroft’s hands, Jim reached for the nightstand drawer and retrieved a tube of lubricant and a box of condoms. Mycroft didn’t stop caressing, exploring, and touching every inch of the slender body but soon two lubed fingers pressed against Jim’s entrance and then slid inside. James arched with pleasure and Mycroft continued the sweet divine torture from both inside and out. Nothing thrilled him more than wresting cries of want and desire from this man.

He pulled his fingers out, retrieved a condom, and slipped it on his cock. “How long has it been?” Jim asked while leaning back and pulling his legs apart.

Mycroft paused, then slowly entered the pliant body to the hilt in one continuous movement. Pleasure suffused his mind and all his senses. Mycroft was no virgin but every other experience paled to this. “Four years,” Mycroft pulled out and then pushed back in. Seeing nothing but desire in his partner he started a slow and steady rhythm. “Six months, three weeks, two days and four to six hours depending on the exact point of time that you wish me to reference.”

James laughed. “Just fuck me, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft grabbed Jim’s wrists and pinned them over his head. “Oh, I intend to…”

*~*~*

Mycroft awoke with his arms full of James Moriarty. Besides being the Napoleon of Crime, the man was an exceptionally good cuddler as well as kisser, lover, and whatever other words were needed to cover their activities of the past night. The first time had been slow, sensual, and exploratory. The second time had been much rougher and raw. Mycroft could see a bruise forming on Jim’s shoulder and knew that there were plenty more on the rest of the man’s body. 

James had taken control for the third time and it had been like being hit by a hurricane, intense, relentless, and pounding. James had brought him to the edge repeatedly until Mycroft had been turned into an incoherent mass of want, need, and desire. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never plead with _anyone_ for _anything_. James Moriarty wasn’t just anyone. Mycroft had begged. Over and over, and he knew that James was aware of his giving in and had relished every moment.

The sun was peeking through the curtains but Mycroft had no other indication of what time it was besides the fact that he was thoroughly energized and completely exhausted. He shifted to see if there was a clock. Eventually his gaze settled on a very ornate Victorian clock, probably stolen, that indicated it was half past ten. “We did well,” Jim murmured against his chest and then rolled his neck while blinking his eyes open. Mycroft had to smile. James Moriarty waking up was like an adorable kitten not a criminal mastermind. When he’d finished, Jim looked up at him and said “Hi!”

“Hello, yourself,” Mycroft replied and wondered how James could be so charming and where they went from there. Did he politely excuse himself and never return to the coffee shop? That seemed drastic. Did they go back to being enemies at a truce? That seemed inappropriate now. Did this mean _something_ that Mycroft really didn’t want to think about. “It seems we’ve slept in a bit.”

“Mmmmmm…” Jim rolled in Mycroft’s arms to also look at the clock. “That we did. Would you like breakfast?”

Mycroft tilted his head and decided perhaps that was the best solution. The question didn’t really need to be answered immediately. After breakfast would be sufficient. He sat up when Jim rose and procured them both a bathrobe. “What would you like?”James asked.

Mycroft remembered Jim’s kitchen. “May I cook breakfast?”

Jim smiled a bit smugly. “Yes, you may. There’s eggs, all sorts of vegetables and cheeses, some bacon, if you fancy cooking that up.” 

Mycroft smiled with anticipation. “I _do_ love to cook.”

“Feel free,” Jim said. “If I bother then I do it well, but most of the time, I just can’t be arsed to do so only for myself.”

“I have the very same problem as cooking for one isn’t terribly rewarding.”

“You can come here and cook any time you want, Mr. Holmes.” James smiled impishly. “I won’t stop you.” He tied his bathrobe around his waist. “I’ll run down stairs and get us something naughty. We deserve it. I think they told me there was going to be Caribbean Rum Cake. It’s got tropical fruit: pineapple, mandarin oranges, passion fruit, mango, and guava, on top of a yellow sponge cake with vanilla icing and coconut shreds. The whole thing is soaked in coconut rum. Rather decadent.”

“I’m really not sure that I should have anything of that sort,” Mycroft said even though the cake sounded like temptation incarnate.

Jim laughed. “Of course you can, darling. We’ll just exercise it off afterward.”


	5. Petit Fours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a short epilogue_

**Petit Fours**

( _three years later_ )  
“You know, James,” Mycroft said without looking up from his computer. Both were still in bed at the Soho apartment. Mycroft had been working for the past hour while Jim had been reading a paper on the formation of galaxies, clusters, and large scale structures in an expanding universe dominated by dark matter and dark energy. “Tomorrow is the three year anniversary of our first night together.”

Jim nodded and, without looking up from his e-reader, said, “It is. I told them to make a truly special cake for us.”

Looking up with interest, Mycroft picked up a beautifully decorated red velvet petit four and brought it Jim’s mouth. It looked like an extravagant holiday gift. “What kind of cake, if I may ask?” James bit into the petit four and then made an enormous and lascivious production of eating it while licking and sucking Mycroft’s fingers. “I should have withheld the treat until you answered the question,” Mycroft grumbled playfully.

Jim chuckled and looked up while licking the last bits of icing from his lips. “I told them to surprise us.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“I do, darling, and that’s why I told them to do that,” Jim teased. Mycroft snorted in response, wiped his fingers on a napkin, and then took one of the miniature cakes for himself. “No, actually, I asked them to make a _Zuppa Inglese_ ,” Jim continued, “because, it means something to the Italians.”

“Everything means something to the Italians.”

“True, and also you’re my posh English _a rúnsearc_ 1.”

“You’re so good to me,” Mycroft said flatly, which caused James to chuckle.

“Aren’t I, though,” Jim said. “But you were asking me something…”

“Was I?”

“Only you would know.”

“Yes, I suppose that I was,” Mycroft said and sighed. “What do you think of, perhaps, making the relationship a bit more… serious?”

“What do you mean _more serious_?” Jim said while looking intensely pleased. “Like our one year anniversary where we made sure that you had an extra set of pants here? Or our two year anniversary where we went to visit Mummy and Father in the country for tea but didn’t tell them anything?”

Mycroft sighed again. He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. He was intensely aware of all the small changes that James had made to accommodate him: helping him with more of his work, subtle shifts in his schedule so they would have more time together, insisting that his bodyguard, Sebastian Moran, accompany him on dangerous trips, and spending less time as a consulting criminal. He also knew that his own shyness on top of the security requirements of his work was what had been holding their relationship back. The fact that James seemed content to go at his pace and made no demands only made him adore the man more. 

When James poked him with an elbow, he realized that he’d been silent too long and quickly fed his lover another petit four. “Sorry…” he muttered. “I was clearly slacking in my duties.”

“Yes, you were, and don’t do it again,” Jim said but there was merriment in his eyes. “But do go on… more serious, you were saying? I’m intrigued.”

“Yes,” Mycroft answered simply and then tried once more to proceed, but failed.

“I’ll help,” Jim said smugly. “By more serious, do you mean going out to dinner somewhere that coworkers frequent and run the risk of being seen?” Mycroft frowned. “Or, perhaps, do you mean actually telling little Sherlock so he can stop tailing you to try and figure out my identity? That would put an end to a lot of entertainment for _all_ of us.”

“True.”

“Or do you mean that I need to shore up this identity so it can withstand some significant scrutiny?”

Mycroft smiled. Leave it James to understand what he was trying to say and say it in a way that wasn’t terrifying to him. “All of them,” he said firmly and was rewarded by a look of utter shock flashing across Jim’s face for an instant before the man hid it. He did so love shocking James.

“Did you buy me a ring, Mycroft Holmes?” Jim asked, still looking perplexed.

“No,” Mycroft replied and set his laptop aside before pulling James into his arms. “I assumed you’d rather select your own or both because I like the idea of you finding one for me.” 

Jim shifted and kissed him. “I would. I will. And I suppose, most importantly, I do.” 

**The End.**

  


1\. A rúnsearc- secret love or beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading.  
> Have some cake tonight!!!


End file.
